Batman and Robin - Mysteries of Gotham
by Vintura
Summary: Dick Grayson has just moved into Wayne Manor after the death of his parents. It takes time and a lot of patience before he gets initiated into the life of the Batman as they both work in tandem to solve the different cases of Gotham. Each chapter will feature an individual case. This is a detective story and will also function as an origin story for Dick Grayson.


**EPISODE #1**

**THE BIRD AND HIS GUNS**

It had only been a month since Bruce Wayne had initiated me into his confidence as a student. And though my training at his hands had been a long ongoing process, those first weeks, I found myself terribly fascinated by his methodology and tools.

But this fascination only came about after I had found the massively hollow bat-infested cave underneath the Manor building, which inadvertently only added to my building interest and intrigue for the man and his incredible lifestyle.

Yes, it was true that I had arrived into his life in spectacular fashion, not unlike his own tragic story wherein in a single night I was orphaned by a man with a gun, though it was still his own decision to take me in at all. The papers were hugely interested at my seemingly similar backstory to my new availing guardian – The death of the Wayne's and the death of the Flying Grayson's were both crimes that had orphaned two sons of Gotham. By adopting me, a boy from the poor family of acrobats into the folds of rich upper society, Bruce Wayne had perhaps wished to show me warmth but, I found myself terribly lost in a house the size of my previously traveling circus. Here and there on the papers, I would on occasion find mention of the Grayson murders but it was clear to me that the media was far more interested in Bruce Wayne's noble move in adopting the victim of this gruesome orphaning, than the act of murder itself. I was incredibly frustrated by these turn of events and the nights were often sleepless and seldom lacking in nightmares.

Of the rich notorious families that inhabited Gotham among the huge backdrop of the declining Cobblepot's and the greedy Daggett's, the Wayne family was perhaps the most distinguished and decently portrayed of all in mainstream media. Perhaps I should have considered myself lucky to be invited into the midst of a family that had paved the history of Gotham in such a glorious way as the philanthropic Wayne's. But the legacy of Thomas and Martha Wayne was unknown to me then because they were people before my time and it was only upon sharing a room in the Wayne Mansion and familiarizing myself with the old antique pictures in the various corridors that I gained some semblance of their history. Honestly, though, I didn't care that much.

A month passed in the Manor which I would describe as terribly dull and morose for it soon came upon my attention that Mister Wayne was an incredibly absent figure. Rarely would he come to my room to converse with me and even then our exchanges would be curt and devoid of any interest.

"Hello Dick," he would say at the breakfast table on the rare days that he would turn up for breakfast at all. "Hello Mister Wayne," I'd reply while stuffing my face with the butler Alfred's incredible toast and bacon; I have no reservations in admitting that the food at Wayne Manor was an immense upgrade to my previous existence. Perhaps that was the only positive thing I could ascertain in the first few weeks of occupation at the lavish household. "Call me Bruce," he would say with his dark eyes on me from across the table. It always seemed strange to me that there were dark lines around his eyes, maybe an indication of sleepless nights on his behalf as well. Needless to say, I found him quite strange even then, especially then to be truthful, when I had freshly moved to his rather palatial mansion full of shadows and empty bedrooms.

I knew even then, having spent merely a month in close proximity that Bruce Wayne was a darker personality than the gossip columns which described him as Gotham's Prince or a top contender of the World's most eligible bachelors. No, all of it was a façade as I would discover not much later.

* * *

The tale of how I came upon Bruce Wayne's closely guarded secret is an interesting one but perhaps it is best left for later. Presently, however, I wanted to draw my attention towards a mysterious development that happened only a month after I began my tutelage under Bruce Wayne in his crusade to rid Gotham of the criminal element and as it soon became clear to me, it was no easy pursuit. It was a Monday night and Bruce had left me in the cave with a thickly bound book written by a botanist in the 18th century on the amorphous plants that might be found in the backdrops of the Sunderban marshes. Botany might have seemed a strange subject to delve into at first but he was equally attentive on my knowledge in the fields of biology, chemistry, statistics, toxicology, linguistics, computer analysis, programming, and a dozen more subjects which had overwhelmed me completely. "Knowledge is always welcome in all forms. If we are to catch the criminals whose complex tactics may elude the simple-mindedness of the police, then we have to be multiple steps ahead in order to gain an advantage over the perpetrators," he would say delivering on my table multiple stacks of papers and thick journals full of facts and information that might only come from a book. "Bruce, how am I supposed to digest so much information? I'm fourteen, kids my age don't read half as many books as I've finished the past fortnight," I enquired to which he replied, "Age is not a mitigating factor. But the quicker you go through your studies, the sooner I can take you out into the field alongside me." And so it was his promise of field-work that kept me diligently invested in the books.

But on that Monday night, he arrived at the cave at around half past midnight in his flamboyant and nightmarishly designed armored car and without a word sat down on the seat beside mine. He sighed heavily as he took off his mask and rang the bell which brought Alfred down from his kitchen duties.

"Chicken broth and some salad for Master Wayne?" asked Alfred, as he walked down the staircase, which conversely led up to the ground floor of the Manor, holding a tray which had no doubt been supplied with the regimented healthy diet that Bruce always partook of. "Not tonight Alfred. I'm afraid there's been a new case." "Truly?" asked Alfred with raised eyebrows, "Well, then perhaps I should lead Master Grayson to his room before we discuss it any further?"

"Hey come on," I chimed in. "If it's a crime maybe I can help, I've been neck-deep in books for god knows how many days. How about some practical application instead?" Bruce looked tired and a little more than cross-eyed, a predicament no doubt due to a tiring night, "Are you sure you're ready?" he asked to which I nodded with extreme deliberation making it clear that I wished to take part in whatever endeavor had fallen into his hands.

"Alright then," he said finally with a twinkle in his eye. "Since Dick wants to stay down beyond his bedtime and participate, which I can't say I'm against, seeing that practical knowledge of detective work is as important as studying out of books; more so in fact, why don't you Alfred get us both some of that chicken broth and we'll begin discussing what happened immediately"

The clock was approaching one in the morning when Alfred had set down a bowl of soup on the counter in front of us. The howls of the harsh September winds could be heard in the encompassing hollowness of the cave and it filled me with warmth to partake of the hot soup whilst hidden in this secret lair away from the setting cold in the streets of Gotham. The light from the huge fifteen-foot computer, which Bruce had termed the Bat-computer illuminated the otherwise dark surroundings of the cave and it was on that computer that he drew up a bunch of articles and photos of various alleys of Gotham which no doubt he had himself archived so as to keep all his information ready to be used. I was already halfway through my soup and Alfred waited patiently beside his seat, when Bruce cleared his throat and turned in his chair to face the both of us.

"Are either of you aware of Shrapnel Avenue?" he asked turning towards Alfred at first and then resting his eyes on me.

"No," I replied and "Yes," intoned Alfred, "I once had a cousin who lived there. Of course, that was long before I started working here and he has moved on since. But is it not the road situated close to the Upper West, it's only a mile away from Old Gotham if my memory proves right."

"You're absolutely right Alfred. But before I continue further now would be a good time for you Dick to begin studying the map of Gotham for nothing will help you more when you're working in the field than knowing the exact geography of your city inside out."

I merely grunted in assent as Bruce procured a high resolution image of Gotham as seen from a top-down view on the Bat-computer and continued, "Shrapnel Avenue, located on the Western half of the Diamond District, is a stretch of half-mile road which has undergone some change over the years but for the most part it is a semi-trafficked, two-way lane, home to a dozen or so high rise apartments. It's one of the few places in Gotham city where one might still find some level of paradise amid the chaos on the streets. So it goes without much reasoning that Shrapnel Avenue is an uptown neighborhood.

"Tonight, around a quarter past ten in the late evening, one of the residents of Wilbur Complex (a residential block situated on Shrapnel Avenue), a man by the name of Joseph Hiller heard disturbing shouts emanating from the apartment upstairs, more specifically Room no. 503. Now, Mr. Hiller lived on the fourth floor and each floor of Wilbur Complex has exactly four apartments. He found these shouts extremely strange considering that for the four months that he had been living there; Mr. Hiller had always known that the fifth floor of Wilbur Complex was a completely vacant floor. There were no tenants on that floor. So either these men who were shouting were robbers, which seemed unlikely because why would robbers start arguing during a job, or, they had newly moved in which was also quite a strange development as not many people could afford to live at places like Wilbur Complex but it was not unlikely. In his statement to the police, he described the shouts from the apartment upstairs to be somewhat like a quarrel between multiple men though he couldn't give an exact number as to how many men."

"In his statement to the police?" I asked Bruce, "What exactly happened that the police got involved?"

"I'm getting there Dick. I have to follow these events chronologically to paint the full picture," he said with a grim smile. "What was only a quarrel, however, eventually turned sour because Mr. Hiller, again in his statement, said – 'There were some men shouting at each other, I couldn't make out the words except that they were angry but it all suddenly got out of hand when I heard the first gunshot. It was loud and clear and for a moment there was silence and in an instant, all hell broke loose. I don't know how many men there were but my guess is all of 'em started firing after that first shot. There were bullets streaming through my ceiling and one of the bullets even hit my calf. I was in the kitchen at the time and scared to death by the chaos I rushed to my bedroom and locked myself inside. I called the police as quickly as I could,' The time was half-past ten"

"So it was a shootout?" asked Alfred. "Was it mob related?"

"Oh it was more than that," replied Bruce "The police arrived within a couple of minutes and I caught wind of it not too long after them. I had been covering a shift near the dockyards tonight, keeping an eye on arriving shipment. It has come to my attention that someone in Gotham is running an illegal arms ring mostly around the dockyards but not exclusively. I was tailing a black-market arms dealer by the name of Rosco when the news of the shooting was relayed to me by Lieutenant Gordon. Thankfully Gordon didn't let his men tamper the site more than necessary before I got a good look inside Room 503.

"The GCPD had set up a perimeter on the streets below as I slipped in through a window that Gordon had kept open. It was utterly dark inside the place; the lights had been busted by all the shooting. There were four bodies in total, the cops had already bagged them and moved them away, so, unfortunately, I could get no direct evidence from the dead bodies but Gordon promised to keep me updated on the coroner's results.

"There were empty bullet shells in the thousands lying on the living room floor which makes me certain that the actual shootout took place there and considering the fact that Mr. Hiller's kitchen and Room 251's living room exactly correspond along their layout and there was just the wooden floor separating them, it makes sense that the bullets pierced through the floor and one of them hit Mr. Hiller in the calf."

"Was Mr. Hiller the only one who called the police? Because if it was a shootout like you described, surely people from the rest of the building would have heard the gunshots," I asked.

"They did, but Joseph Hiller was the first responder in this situation and he was also the only one injured in the resulting chaos. In fact, he's currently undergoing a bullet removal surgery at the Gotham General."

"So four dead bodies and Mr. Hiller couldn't specify how many men there were in total," Alfred mused, the blue light from the computer accentuated the deep wrinkles of his face. "So there may have been survivors. I can't help feeling this has something to with the mob."

"You're not wrong because my suspicions align with yours that this was no mere shootout. I think this is bigger than just some argument between some men. The mob could be involved here, but seeing as how Falcone and Maroni are both securely locked up at Black Gate, it couldn't have been then. However that being said, I've been hearing rumors the past month, rumors that I need to look into with proper care now.

"But I think what happened in Room 503 could most definitely have been an exchange meeting between two parties gone awry," Bruce replied thoughtfully. "As for who these men were, I have a hypothesis based on a few reports from the streets that I have been investigating. But I'd like to do some more digging before I share this theory. In fact, let's call it a night Alfred, there's some work to be done and I need to head out."

"What are you going to do?" I asked with excitement. "Just a hunch," Bruce said slipping on his mask and walking towards his car. "Best follow up the leads before they run cold. If there are any new developments I'll have them at breakfast."

* * *

I found it extremely difficult to sleep that night. My excitement at having to take part in a case and the finer details of the crime kept the gears in my brain running all night long and so I showed up at breakfast the next morning with bloodshot eyes. Alfred set down a cup of coffee in front of me while Bruce sat in his gown flipping through the newspaper. "It appears," Alfred began with a disapproving look, "That no one except me got a good night's sleep last night." "Sorry," I muttered, "Too excited" Bruce's eyes twinkled at my answer, "I think Dick is just very enthusiastic about this investigation" he smiled.

'Absolutely," I nodded as I sipped on the coffee. "So what did you find last night?"

"Oh, I found a lot. In fact, my hunch turned out very correct," he replied laying down his newspaper on the table. The morning sun shone painfully yellow through the tall architectural windows of the dining room. In the distance, I saw the great skyscrapers of Gotham bathing in the glory of the sun's rays and reflecting them away. By day, Gotham City seemed a strange place indeed, but come night all its familiar dark trappings and chaos manifested in acts of a heinous crime like the one Bruce happened upon last night. The Shootout on Shrapnel Avenue – what a mystery that was, but it was clear that Bruce Wayne knew more about it than I at the moment.

"Like I said last night, there were rumors that I had been hearing for quite some time now and yesterday's botched shootings threw me a bone as to carefully investigate into these rumors that I paid no heed to for quite some time now," he said. "You see, ever since Falcone and Maroni were put away, there have been rumors of a new uprising among the criminal underworld. Obviously, with the massive hole that Falcone and Maroni left behind in the city's underworld, there have been numerous contenders for their position but none of them have become a threat to the city. That has been the case for two years now. However, for a month or two now I have been hearing whispers of a name from street thugs and dockyard workers and arms dealer, all of whom speak of - The Penguin."

"The Penguin? The Arctic bird?" Alfred asked with a grin. "That doesn't sound very terrifying."

"Truly," said Bruce, "The man's true identity is a mystery to me but all the low-lives in Gotham are talking about him and though whispers of his name haven't reached the police yet, I think he is connected with what happened yesterday."

"That seems like a huge leap," I said filling my mouth with bread and juice. "What makes you think this… Penguin was involved?"

"Well, for one thing, it was the bullets that gave me the clue," Bruce said matter-of-factly.

"The bullets? The bullet shells inside the apartment?" I asked.

"Yes," he nodded. "The empty rounds I found strewn across the floor in thousands were casings of premium-grade ammunition that you can usually connect to semi-automatic rifles. Clearly this frenzied shooting was done using assault rifles and not your standard hand-guns. So then you have to ask the question, why on earth would any normal thug carry assault rifles around with them? In fact, another great question would be, how on earth do you get your hands on semi-automatic carbine assault rifles seeing that these are military-grade weapons that cannot be obtained by any legal means and yet here we have four dead bodies inside Room 503 each of them shot using these very rifles"

"The illegal arms ring!" I said suddenly, remembering Bruce's story from last night. "The illegal arms ring you were talking about last night, it's somehow connected to the people who were shot, or at least did the shooting, at Wilbur Complex!"

"Very good Dick," Bruce smiled. "I made that connection myself and it is an important connection because it proves that our isolated shootout was part of a bigger web of crime. One tied to an illegal smuggling ring that deals in military-grade arms."

"What a disastrous pickle," Alfred sighed carrying away our breakfast plates.

"It seems you were right after all Alfred, the shootout was indeed mob-related, except, the mob no longer has Falcone or Maroni at its head" Bruce said grimly.

"But all of this still doesn't explain what really happened in Room 503 last night. You said before that it might have been an exchange meeting between two parties gone wrong" I said trying to grasp the situation now that so many different avenues of possibility had opened up.

"Oh it could have been many things, but that's where my last night's late detective work comes in," Bruce said as he got up from his chair and walked over to the windows facing the Gotham skyline. "After I left at around one in the morning, I drove back to the dockyards with the express intention of tracking down Rosco, the arms dealer I was following a few hours earlier because by then I had made the connection that the illegal arms ring was connected to the shootout. I found him at a pub down by the Narrows, he was using a stall in the bathroom when I overpowered him; it wasn't hard, he was stupidly drunk.

"I then questioned him in the following manner – 'There was a shootout at Room 503 in Wilbur Complex on Shrapnel Avenue at half-past ten tonight. Ring any bells?,' 'No man!' he screamed in panic as I twisted his hand behind his back in a deadlock and pushed his face against the toilet seat. 'What do you want?', 'Answers,' I replied"

"'What can you tell me about the illegal shipping of semi-automatic assault rifles from the docks into the city along with premium-grade rifle ammunition?'"

"'Nothing!' "

"I steadily increased the pressure on his arm, almost pulling it off its socket, 'Is there an illegal arms ring operating in Gotham? Yes or No?' "

"'No,' he grunted at first but eventually changed it to, 'Yes'"

"'Who's shipping these guns into the city?' "

"'I can't tell you his name man! He doesn't like snitches; I heard he tortures them himself. Hangs them up by their wrists for days on end.'"

"'I want a name' I repeated and he grunted in fear – 'The Penguin'"

"'What does the Penguin do with these guns' I asked next, 'He uses them as currency,' said Rosco, 'He sells them to the local street gangs, providing them with military weapons to aid them in turf wars or in their fights against the police while he collects hard cash from their treasuries. This keeps his business stable and booming'"

"It seems that we now know who has been running the arms ring along the dockyards - The Penguin himself." Bruce said as he sat down deep in thought, "In two silent years, the Penguin has slowly taken over the Gotham underworld and established an arms ring so well supplied that there are assault rifles being shipped into Gotham via the docks. And it also makes sense how he would be able to gain such immense power and influence over such short time, by trading in guns and ammunition with the local street gangs to amass the wealth required to sustain his criminal empire. What an ingeniously crafty mastermind, it seems both Falcone and Maroni have a worthy successor in the Penguin. Of course, these are all assumptions at this point but it seems now that the Penguin is indeed connected to our isolated shootout at Shrapnel Avenue," he said pacing the length of the hall.

"Master Wayne," Alfred interrupted, "Fascinating as this discussion has been, I'm afraid you're needed elsewhere. Mister Fox has a meeting with the board at twelve and you have to make an appearance at the office"

Bruce groaned, "It's always when things get interesting that I'm needed elsewhere"

"Yes," agreed Alfred with a wizened look on his face, "Like always, the vagaries of a common life will always put a stop to your fight against the criminal world"

* * *

While Bruce was gone for his day-chore at Wayne Towers and Alfred had left me to go work on his kitchen duties, I went up to my room and decided to continue reading the Botany book that I had left half-finished owing to the exciting development of the new case from the previous night, but unfortunately, my mind kept wandering off and eventually I gave up on the book altogether and instead turned to my thoughts. I kept thinking again and again about the empty room on Wilbur Complex where four men had lost their lives last night and how through pure deductive reasoning and some basic detective work, Bruce had managed to connect an apartment shooting to a rising mob boss and his illegal arms ring. I had been somewhat awe-struck when he had revealed the overarching web of crimes that connected a singular event to a massive shadow organization. Truly, the Batman was a far more effective detective than I had previously thought and to see him in action had been an absolute delight.

But kiddishly fascinated as I was, even I knew that this case still had some major holes to be investigated. For one thing, it still wasn't clear what took place inside room 503 last night or what could have started an argument as Mr. Hiller reported. And as for connecting it all to the Penguin, there was still the problem that no one, including Bruce, knew who he really was; or if it was even a he. So, it would be a hard time indeed to connect it to a vague underground alias only referred to in rumors. Two extremely difficult problems that needed to be dealt with before anything could progress further.

However, a major breakthrough arrived in the evening via a message from Lieutenant Gordon, which contained an attachment of the coroner's report on the four dead bodies. The message was left on the Batcomputer and Bruce was already reading through it at breakneck speed half-dressed in his Batman suit. The time was eight in the evening and though he had spent almost ten hours in the office, he looked extraordinarily rejuvenated now that he was back in his domain.

"Hmm, Rosco's dead," Bruce muttered to me after reading Gordon's message.

"Wait what?"

"The arms dealer I questioned last night, he's dead. His body was found in the Gotham Bay, evidence indicates he had been washed through the Gotham Sewage Tunnels and eventually ended up in the harbor, the police fished him out of the sea."

"The Penguin murdered him? He's covering his tracks right?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. But the police don't know the Penguin exists so there's no murder investigation as of yet. But that's not all there is to Gordon's message, there's some good news as well.

"They have identified at least three of the dead bodies - Kevin Jerome, a janitor at the Huber & Gruber shop on 22nd Glenmore street, has a prior record of shoplifting, petty theft, battery and released from Gotham County Jail a month ago on account of an attempted robbery. Bill Henshaw, a passenger bus driver, prior record of harassment and petty theft. The third guy is Walt Dexter, a day worker at the Ace Chemical Plants, again a long history of criminal record including extortion and illegal gambling."

"Who's the fourth?" I asked.

"No records on the police database. But, with access to the right municipal backlogs and registry, I can find out things the police can't," Bruce said tapping away on his keyboard with intensity as a bunch of windows popped up on the screen. "Aha, there it is. Our fourth dead person is Henry Underwood, a resident of Uptown Gotham worked at the Jolly Wolly Mart on 102nd Avenue by Robinson Park."

"So no criminal record for our fourth guy?" Alfred inquired.

"None whatsoever. But here's something interesting – You know Alfred and so do you Dick that I always keep archival documentation of my investigations; it's the only way I manage to keep my case files as organized as possible no matter how many crimes I may be investigating at a time. This, of course, gives me an edge over the police on certain matters like speed and accuracy in solving crimes. So, when I cross-reference all the four names of our dead victims using the Batcomputer's past knowledge of criminal profiles, it shows that all four of our victims, regardless of their criminal past, are all linked to the 24th Street Gang that operates out of the Diamond District"

"How are they linked? In what capacity? Are they members of this gang?"

"Their names come up in various reports of my encounter with the 24th Street Gang. So my guess is, they were full-fledged members of this gang and their past criminal records suggest that they would mediate towards a collective unison for more opportunities."

"Even Henry Underwood the guy without any criminal past?" I asked. "His record is absolutely clean"

"He could be higher up within the ranks which means he doesn't get involved in the dirty work. No, I believe all four of them were members of the 24th Street Gang," Bruce said with certainty.

"Then in that case, what were four members of the 24th Street Gang doing inside Room 503 on Monday night?" asked Alfred.

"Don't you see it Alfred?" I said, immediately seeing a connection, "The Penguin and his thugs were having an exchange meeting with the 24th Street Gang inside room 503."

"Pardon me Master Grayson but I don't follow you," Alfred said visibly confused.

"Well, Bruce said earlier today that the Penguin sells guns to various gangs across Gotham. He trades with them in weaponry and ammunition. So clearly the Penguin and his thugs must have been inside Room 503 last night, trading with the 24th Street Gang but unfortunately some kind of fight broke out between them, probably an argument over the money, and at some point it got so heated that bang bang bang bang – four members of the 24th Street Gang hit the floor and The Penguin and his thugs bail out of the place before the police can show up only to leave behind a trail of bullets and bodies behind them."

"Excellently summarized Dick," Bruce interjected. "So after two days of bashing our heads together, we can finally come to the conclusion that the Penguin is indeed connected to the shootout. In fact, not only is he connected to this singular crime, but he is also our prime suspect and culprit."

"So what now?" I asked.

"Now we catch the Penguin," Bruce said putting on his mask.

"But how? We don't know who he is"

"I do"

"What?"

"Yes, I found out who the Penguin is today at the office. I can't really say it surprised me but I did feel like a damn fool for not having made this connection earlier myself. But again, the Penguin is a crafty bird and his family has a long line of history in Gotham, just like the Wayne's" Bruce said as he got up from his seat. Now that he was fully in his Batman attire and standing tall above me, I did feel a sense of trepidation looking at his menacing stance and his frowning face. This was the terrifying aura he exuded over the criminal underbelly of Gotham, he was a figment of their darkest imagination. The demon that came to punish the greedy for their sins.

"Who is the Penguin?" I asked carefully.

"The last living member of a dying influential family in Gotham - Oswald Cobblepot."

"The millionaire? The socialite I often see at your fundraisers?" Alfred asked with genuine surprise. "The short portly man with the awkward walk?"

"Yes." Bruce said, "I've always known Oswald to be an intelligent young man and not too long ago, he and I used to attend Gotham High together. We were in the same year and though he was never a friend of mine I knew him because of his family name and my parents often encouraged me to call him to my birthday parties. But he had a difficult childhood, his father was a drunkard and a gambler and he spent the last ounces of the family wealth on his debts leaving the family wealth in a dire status. The father eventually died an alcoholic, leaving behind a crippled mother, who Oswald had to then take care of. He did all he could but with declining finances and declining popularity with the people of Gotham, his family's legacy has been tarnished away despite the fact that the Wayne's and the Cobblepot's were once equal in status and wealth.

"Quite recently, however, despite his alleged failing finances, I've noticed an increase in his participation in the city's various municipal investments. Not only that, but he has also become a major partner for many governors living the high life in Gotham. I found this quite strange in the beginning and his relationship with various other influential people continued for some time but I didn't give it much thought. But then, he has also now taken a major interest in Wayne Enterprises offering us major money to offer him a chunk of the company's shares. In fact, it was only today that Mr. Fox enlightened me upon this news and when I checked the amount of money offered, I was staggered by its value. That got me thinking, how was Oswald Cobblepot, the last living member of a declining rich family, managing to secure the funds necessary to secure a portion of my father's company. And what was his plan for it?

"I then did some digging on him via my private office computer which is linked to the Batcomputer's mainframe. At first, nothing came up but after long strenuous hours of research I found out that Oswald has a criminal record in his past that is hidden from his official papers. During his early twenties, Oswald had moved to Metropolis for his university education and fell into the company of the local mafia. He has various counts of larceny to his name, including extortion, bribing officials, illegal gun ownership, and dozens of other breaches. However, he was never prosecuted and sent away, most likely due to his good ties with important people and having the mafia at his back.

"He eventually moved back to Gotham and for a time, no one heard about him. His mother died and a small funeral was held which was attended only by him and a local priest. After that, there is almost nothing to be found about him, until a year ago, when Oswald Cobblepot entered mainstream society again with his finances back on track and having secured good relationships with the influential officials of Gotham City. His strength, as both of you can infer, lies in his ability to make strong ties with the right people. The timeline of Oswald Cobblepot's rebirth into fame matches extremely well with the rumors of the Penguin circulating on the street. My guess is that Oswald is generating his finances through his illegal arms ring which he conducts under the guise of the Penguin. Also, and this is the point that really nails it, Wilbur Complex, the building where the shootout took place, was owned by a subsidiary owned by Cobblepot. Oswald chose the meeting spot for his trade with 24th Street Gang in a building he owned. Of course, he didn't know then that things might go south and people would end up dead and the building's ownership might be tied back to him."

"So… We have the Penguin?" I muttered at the end of Bruce's explanation. "You're going to catch him?"

Bruce didn't answer but silently entered his car and said, "Good work on your first case, Dick... Welcome to my world," and he drove off into the night.

* * *

That night, the news was flooded with reports about the arrest of Oswald Cobblepot. The TV reports showed the video of a short fat man with a hooked nose being dragged out of his palatial house, "Bloody fools, I'm innocent! The Cobblepot's have always helped the people of Gotham. The Batman is the real problem here!" he kept shouting while blood was oozing out of his left hand, no doubt from a puncture wound inflicted by a Batarang.

Bruce still hadn't returned from his nightly patrols and I was sitting in the Wayne Manor living room with Alfred, watching the TV, feeling a sense of elation that I'd helped in the capture of the Penguin.

"We got the Penguin," I said in glee.

"Hmm" said Alfred disinterestedly.

"We got the Bird and we got his guns"

"Truly"

I turned towards Alfred, "You know, with Oswald Cobblepot running around as the Penguin and Bruce Wayne skulking on people's rooftops as the Batman, it makes you think if all the rich people of Gotham have terrifying secrets of their own."

Alfred snorted humorously at my thought, "Everyone has skeletons in their closets Master Grayson. It's just that people of Gotham have more secrets than anyone in the world."


End file.
